Page 17 of Obedience

***

Startled by the vibration of her phone, which pierced the silence of her home office, Greta grabbed at it and slid her thumb over the screen. The rush of excitement at seeing Dylan’s name at the end of the text was indescribable and, to Greta’s mind, utterly juvenile. But she was powerless to stop the feelings of relief thrumming in her chest. She had tried in vain to stop thinking about Dylan, but her thoughts were lodged too deeply, creating an incessant, unsettling vibration in her head. She needed to clear the air, then she could move on and leave whatever this feeling was behind. She drew in a long breath as she took her glasses off, biting her lip while hoping for inspiration to reply but immediately reverted to Margot.

Greta:

‘You declined a meeting?’

Her heart raced as the app confirmed that Dylan had read the message and was online. Three dots appeared, then stopped. Then reappeared. Greta couldn’t suppress the swell of unexpected butterflies that had burst to life in her chest.

Dylan:

‘I’m done with Margot’

Shit. It was decided. This was the outcome she had wanted, so why did it sting? Another message.

Dylan:

‘…now I know that Greta Vincent exists x’

Greta’s stomach lurched, a smile tugging at the very corners of her mouth. She drafted a message inviting Dylan to meet that night, then immediately deleted it, the invitation feeling far too eager. She needed to compose herself, to build the words in her head before putting her thumbs to the screen. She could almost see Dylan laughing as the three dots pulsed on the thread before disappearing, mocking her indecision. Leaning back and inhaling sharply, she bounced the edge of her phone against her lips. Her brain hummed, and before her internal filter could catch up, she had typed and sent a message she wasn’t even sure she was ready for herself.

Greta:

‘Where do you live?’

***

Dylan blinked at the screen, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. Holy shit. Galvanised by the mere fact that the conversation was happening, her thumbs rapidly typed.

Dylan:

‘Chorlton. You?’

Greta’s reply was instantaneous.

Greta:

‘I can be with you in an hour’

Dylan’s weak will for all things Greta Vincent immediately evaporated her resolve. She thought she didn't want sex. She thought she couldn't handle being dominated. It turned out she had possibly thought wrong. On both counts.

Dylan:

‘That’s not an answer to my question, Dr Vincent’

Greta:

‘Am I booking an Uber?’

Dylan scanned her house. It wasn’t exactly in a prime state for company, but she didn’t care. It never was. Whatever Greta was offering, she would take.

Dylan:

‘155 Beech Road’

Greta:

‘You are alone I trust?’